


The More Things Change...

by bansheequeen (queenbanshee), xtremeroswellian



Series: Where Do We Begin? [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Because if she'd died he'd have gone out of his freaking mind, But we're not bashing, Detectives, Dynamic Duo, F/M, Hurt Lydia, Mentions of Scott McCall - Freeform, Mentions of Theo, Mentions of everybody tbh, Missing Scene, Of everyone basically, Sort of AU but not really that much, Stiles and Lydia are Mulder and Scully basically, Stiles is just suspicious, Stydia OTP, We're not Malia fans, Worried Stiles, mentions of Liam, mentions of Malia Tate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 10:06:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4344341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenbanshee/pseuds/bansheequeen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtremeroswellian/pseuds/xtremeroswellian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing, sort of AU scene that SHOULD have happened in 5X04, "Condition Terminal."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The More Things Change...

He doesn’t go to school the next day, even though his dad and Scott both tell him he needs to go. He can’t bring himself to leave the hospital. He’s exhausted, hasn’t slept in over 36 hours now, but his body is oddly accustomed to the lack of sleep at this point. He can’t remember the last time he slept through the night uninterrupted by something or someone, be it some supernatural emergency or a text from Scott updating him on something supernatural, or Malia sneaking through the window to crawl into his bed. 

Now the reason is because one of the people he loves the most is in ICU, probably hooked up to a bunch of machines. And because his mind is a horrible place, he envisions her lying still and pale, barely holding onto life thanks to the blood loss from another fucking kanima. His shoulders droop and he lays his head back against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. 

He hears footsteps approaching and looks up to see Melissa approaching, a concerned, motherly look on her face. He straightens a little, trying to look more awake and less depressed and anxious than he feels. He’s sure his anxiety chemosignals are through the roof. It’s good Scott isn’t there. 

“Is she okay?” He climbs to his feet quickly.

Melissa just gives him a look, a very maternal look that is a mix of worry and annoyance that he should be really used to by now. “C’mon. Change of shifts. Hurry up.” 

He’s used to it. So much so he doesn’t even react, just heads for the ICU door and pushes open the one to Lydia’s room, pausing at the sight of Parrish on his way out. He struggles not to react, not to frown, because he likes Parrish. He really does. Maybe a little less right at this exact moment, but he likes him. He nods at him slightly before moving past him and farther into the hospital room.

She’s already sitting up by the time Parrish leaves. Still feeling a little out of it, but better than when she first woke up. Frowning slightly, she looks at the TV, considering the movie for a moment then sighs and reached for the remote to turn it off. It’s too loud and right now she just wants to find her phone to figure out what’s going on with everyone else. 

Stretching out to grab it from the bedside table is a bad idea, though. Lydia gasps quietly, closing her eyes and sighing in frustration as she lifts a hand to carefully rest on her side, over the newly stitched wound. 

He’s at her side a second after she gasps, reaching out and laying a gentle hand on her arm. “Should I call for a doctor? Are you -- are you okay?” 

Her eyes widen when he just _appears_ in front of her. She pauses, cocking her head to look up at him and she smiles softly. “No. No, I’m okay. I was-- just reaching for my phone to text you, actually.”  
She’s not okay. Granted, she doesn’t look as pale and still as he’d been imagining -- because his brain is a truly terrible place -- but she’s awake and talking. “You -- you’re _not_ okay, you almost died. Again. For the second time in like, way too short of a time period.” It’s twice too many times for her to almost die. It’s the second goddamn time he’s watched her nearly bleed to death on the ground right in front of his eyes and maybe he’s not okay either. 

It makes her chest tight when she sees him like this. When she thinks of the only thing she saw when she was laying on the floor of the Sheriff’s station. His pale face, his wide eyes just staring at her. Like he couldn’t breathe. Worrying about her. He has been feeling so distant lately, but in that moment, she felt him there and somehow, it helped her calm down. Enough to know she wasn’t going to die. Enough to realize that the voices had quieted down after Tracy… 

She sits up on the bed a little more, adjusting quietly so she doesn’t hurt herself or worry him more. “I’m fine.” And she’s not sure if he means when she almost bled out on the lacrosse field, or when Brunski almost killed them a few months ago. But she doesn’t ask.

“They’re just keeping me here because of the blood loss, but I’ll be fine.” 

He rakes a hand through his hair as he begins to pace the length of the room. He hates hospitals. _Loathes_ hospitals. This one in particular. He’s chewing on his thumbnail as he moves, heart beating a little faster than usual considering all he’s been doing is sitting around in waiting rooms. “I wanted to come in sooner. They said -- family only.” Except that doesn’t apply to the police, apparently. “Melissa let me sneak in because the nurses are changing shifts.” 

He forces himself to take a deep breath before turning to look at her again. “They said family only.” He swallows hard.

When he paces the room, when his eyes look unfocused, when he repeats himself is when she really takes him in. His hair's a mess. His shirt is ripped and there’s even some blood under the cut, and he’s more jittery than she’s seen him in a while. That’s when it hits her. 

Without really giving it a second thought, she reaches over for his hand, pulling his thumb away from his mouth, another clear sign of stress and anxiety. “Did you get any rest at all, Stiles?”

“I’m fine.” He’s not worried about sleeping or going to school. He’s worried about _her_. He’s worried about all of them and what this new supernatural nightmare is all about, and if they’re all going to survive it and he doesn’t know if he has it in him to face more men in masks -- if there really were any -- and he doesn’t know how to process the fact that he’s not sure there were. “I’m all right.” He lets her tug his hand into her own, exhales slowly, shoulders dropping a little. 

He’s not fine. In fact, she’s more fine than he is right now. And she’s fairly sure he hasn’t been fine for a while now. It just-- doesn’t really feel like her place to be the one to help him anymore lately. So she’s been around when he needs her for something, but she feels like she needs to give him space. And he seems to have been wanting the space he’s been given so, in the end, it works out. 

Right now he’s there with her, though. So she keeps her hand wrapped around his and squeezes it gently. Mostly to remind him she’s there. “Is everyone else okay?”

He hooks his ankle around the leg of the chair by her bed and yanks it closer so that he can sit down. He doesn’t let go of her hand. He drops onto the edge of the seat, wrapping his other hand around hers, too. “Yeah. Everyone else is -- other than...I mean, Tracy’s not…” He doesn’t look at her. “But everyone else is.” 

Sighing softly, she nods slightly. “Yeah, I felt it.” She wasn’t on time to help Tracy. She and Kira didn’t figure it out fast enough, she didn’t get Malia to go help Tracy fast enough. Once he sits down, Lydia leans back against her pillows and turns her head toward him, not moving her hand at all. “My mother is okay too. She went home, I think. But I already asked her not to say anything.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice is almost inaudible and he looks up at her with tired, red-rimmed eyes. There’s more he wants to say and can’t, more he wants to say and doesn’t know _how_ to say. He’s glad her mother is okay because there’s nothing like the pain of losing a mother. He bites his lower lip, knowing just how many questions Natalie Martin had to have right about now. 

Lydia isn’t sure what to say, either. She doesn’t even know how she’ll have the whole supernatural conversation with her mom, but she’s glad that she has some time to think about it. Whether or not she’ll even say anything at all with depend on how ready her mom is to handle the information. For now, she seems perfectly fine with denial, but there’s no way she missed the girl crawling on the ceiling. 

For now, she’s focusing back on Stiles, on how terrible and exhausted he looks. Part of her wants him to stay. But part of her is just too concerned not to at least say something. “You really need to get some sleep, Stiles.”

Sleep would require him to leave the hospital and that’s not going to happen. Not when the others are in school and there’s no one here to make sure she’s safe. Not that he’ll be much help if a weird ass supernatural/not really supernatural hybrid comes waltzing through the door with intent to kill, but he can throw himself in their path and maybe she’ll have a chance of fleeing to the bathroom or out the door at least. 

“I will. Later. I’m not leaving until they kick me out.” And then he was only going so far as the hallway. Maybe the waiting area in the ICU. But that was absolutely it. He drops his gaze for a moment. “How uh -- how bad does it hurt?” 

She’s not sure where it comes from, the urge to smile at his statement. But it does. She just purses her lips together though, and sighs softly at his stubbornness. If anyone asks, she’s definitely blaming it all on the drugs they’ve given her. It’s definitely why she’s calmer. Even if underneath, part of her is still shaken up.

“It doesn’t, really. It’s just kind of pulling a little, but I think it’s mostly because of the bandages.” She nods at the scratch on his chest, then holds his gaze. “She got you, too? When you were with Deaton?”

He’s forgotten all about it. It doesn’t really hurt, but he hasn’t cleaned it up, either. He looks down at the slash for a second, then nods and glances back up at her. “Yeah. She got all four of us. And -- then waltzed right the hell out of Deaton’s office and across an unbroken line of mountain ash.” 

Stiles rubs a hand over his face. “Apparently Deaton thinks that...she wasn’t supernatural at all. That someone -- or multiple someones -- are _making_ non-supernatural supernatural hybrids. Guess someone didn’t read Frankenstein.” 

“You should let Melissa take a look at it before you leave,” she says, giving him a pointed look but then focusing on his explanation. “Wait, but, Tracy was dreaming, she was stuck in one of her night--” That’s when it actually hits her. Lydia shakes her head slowly, sighing. 

“It wasn’t a night terror at all, was it? It was just the kanima taking control and blacking out like Jack--” She cocks her head slowly, her eyes narrowing as she really makes sense of what he’s saying. “So, whoever is-- somehow creating them, is also controlling them? The guy with the talons and now Tracy?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe. Or just -- creating them and turning them loose to see how they fair against actual supernatural creatures? Or...seeing how many people they can kill before someone stops them? Or --” He pauses, expression turning grim. “Testing the supernatural creatures that are already in Beacon Hills. For strengths and weaknesses.” 

Testing the _pack._ And as soon as the words are out of his mouth, he has a sinking feeling in his chest that he’s right. 

“ _Shit._ ” 

“ _What_?” Because she knows this expression, she knows that when he looks like this, he’s figured it out. And she knows it’s obviously not good. But having some idea of what this might be is better than what they know right now. Two is coincidence, but she’s fairly sure there’ll be a third at this point. 

“Stiles, what is it?”

“What if they’re testing _us?_ The pack.” His voice is hushed and he lifts his gaze to look at her, holding his breath. “The first one -- it came straight for Scott after attacking Parrish. This one --” He pauses, reluctantly lets go of her hand and rises to his feet to begin pacing again, trying to put the pieces together without his board. “It attacked that girl in Mr. Yukimura’s class and then went for your mom. I mean, what better way to get our attention than to go after the people we love?”

Lydia pushes herself up when he gets up, watching him pace again, get anxious again. And she feels her own anxiety rise. If she could get up from the bed, she would. But she still has an IV on her arm. “Why would they? Test us, I mean. If they can somehow create their own supernatural creatures, they wouldn’t need _us_.” She’s asking mostly to brainstorm, to try and find other answers. Because this is suddenly feeling a little too much like another deadpool.

“The first guy went after Jordan and Scott, people he didn’t know, as far as we know. Tracy-- she was attacking people that were trying to _help_ her. It’s a different MO.” 

“Is it?” He turns to face her. “Parrish took a call to go help someone and that’s when he got attacked. And Scott -- Scott helps _everyone_.” Even when they don’t deserve his help. “And the first guy maybe didn’t know any of us personally but he sure as hell knew a lot about Scott already. He mentioned Deucalion and the Argents.” He takes a deep breath. “Maybe it’s not because they need us. Maybe it’s because...they’re scared of us. Maybe they’re trying to take over Beacon Hills and they think we’re standing in the way.” He’s aware that right now he sounds a little unhinged, but he can’t seem to stop himself. 

“Maybe they’re creating these hybrids because they don’t want to risk getting hurt themselves, so they’re sending in monsters to get rid of us instead.” 

She doesn’t mind him ranting, she knows that he’s stressed out and now he’s scared for all of them and their families. Again. But instead of interrupting, she just listens for the key points in his rant. It’s what she usually does. He throws all his theories at her and she picks out the more important things and helps him focus on them. It’s why they work so well together.

What she picks out this time makes her stomach drop, however. “If they know about the Argents and Deucalion, about the kanima. They must have been around for some time. And if they have been, they must know a lot about us. This isn’t exactly knowledge that is all over our facebook feed.”

She shifts on the bed, grimacing a little as she pulls on the stitches, so she just sits back down and moves on. “If they’re creating some kind of army to get rid of us and they’ve been watching us all along, then we have to know who they are.” 

The color drains from his face at that and he turns to stare at her with wide eyes. She’s right. There’s no way that someone could know _that_ many details about all of their lives unless they’d been around already. “We need to make a list of everyone who’s not an immediate member of the pack who knows about the things we’ve been involved with.” 

Lydia nods slightly, reaching for her phone but not stretching herself this time. “Grab my phone, I’ll write down the names.” Because he is more of the type to flail his arms and write in big bold letters on his board. he won’t be up for the task of typing it down on a tiny phone keyboard.

“Kate should obviously be on the very top of our list,” she adds, her jaw clenching a little. She hates that they never did figure out what happened to the woman the second time around.

He moves over and picks up her phone, pressing it into her hands carefully, fingers lingering against hers for just a moment as he meets her eyes. “Kate. Gerard Argent.” He hesitates, looking down. “What about Chris?” His voice is quiet and wary. Sure, Chris has helped them out a lot, but on the other hand he was still brought up a hunter. And if he’s chasing after Kate, it’s hard telling whether or not if he ever caught up with her, or got caught up in some plot with the Calaveras. 

“Also the Calaveras. Peter Hale.” He exhales.

She holds his gaze for a moment, then nods a little and writes down the first two names. Then she hesitates and adds Mr. Argent’s name to the list. “I don’t think Mr. Argent would-- do anything. But we haven’t heard from him in a while. Or Isaac.” Although Isaac is actually pack, but he just vanished on them. And he did lose it after what happened. Not that she can blame him. 

“Derek? Braeden? I think we can also consider the possibility of people just being mind controlled and not necessarily be doing this themselves.” It’s happened to both of them before. And to Meredith. “Especially if Peter is involved.” 

He rakes a hand through his hair as he resumes pacing, nodding a little. “You’re right. We have to consider the possibility that someone could be using one of us to get to the others.” Again. A chill runs down his spine. He quickly goes over every minute in the last few days that he can remember, but there’s no missing time, nothing out of the ordinary that’s happened. Just in case, he glances down at his hands and counts his fingers. 

Ten. 

“Yeah. Meredith, too. Deaton. Parrish. My dad. Melissa.” He winces, shutting his eyes, and hesitating a long moment. “Malia.” 

She writes down Meredith’s name and then pauses when he lists Deaton. Then Parrish. Then the parents, just staring at him for a moment. It’s not until the last name that she interrupts him. “Stiles. Stop.” If they add all of them, then they have to add themselves too, don’t they? And Kira and Scott. 

“Just because people have been around us, it doesn’t mean we can’t trust them. This only just started and they aren’t displaying any unusual behavior, right?” 

He chews the inside of his cheek for a moment, exhaling and then turning to look at her. “She wanted to kill Tracy pretty badly.” His voice is hushed. “And then suddenly Tracy’s dead. And she said -- there were these men in masks that were super strong and they just vanished, but she’s the only one who saw them. And what if…” 

What if he’s been wrong about her all along? What if genetics really do determine how someone will handle things? She’s the kid of two serial killers. If genetics play a part at all, doesn’t that mean she’s more likely than most to turn out evil, herself? His head is starting to hurt. “You said it yourself. It has to be someone who knows us. Someone who’s been around for awhile. And maybe she wasn’t here for a lot of it, but she knows about _all_ of it.” 

The mention of the men in masks makes her pause. She doesn’t know why, it’s almost like a deja vu but she can’t place why it does. So she just shakes her head slightly and frowns at him. “You spend a lot of time with her.” A lot. She feels like this is the first conversation she’s had with Stiles face-to-face alone in months. 

“You really think that if something was going on, you wouldn’t have noticed?” Of course, she didn’t really know what was going on with Jackson back in the day. And with Aiden, she chose to turn a blind eye most of the time. But she’s not Stiles. He can tell these things. She just also knows it’s easier to miss them in the people closest to you. 

“I don’t know.” He exhales and moves to sit down in the chair beside her bed again. “I don’t know anymore, Lydia.” His shoulders slump and he stares at the ground. “Yesterday morning I would have been willing to bet my life that _Theo_ was somehow behind the new evil in town but then he saved your life. I don’t know what to think anymore.” 

_Why can’t you trust anyone?_

_Because you trust **everyone!**_

“Stiles, hey.” She frowns, not entirely sure what’s going on with Theo at all. It’s not like she’s been spending a lot of time at school. She just has one class and she has plenty to figure out with helping Jordan and, well, she was trying to help Tracy, too. 

“You have been right about pretty much everyone you warned us about before, okay? If you feel like something is wrong, I say it’s worth looking into it.” And she means it. His instincts are never, or at least rarely ever, wrong. They have saved their lives more than once before. “What’s going on with this Theo guy?”

He lifts his gaze to look at her, breath hitching for just a second. _No one_ , save for Liam, had believed anything to be off with Theo. Not Malia, not even _Scott._ And yet Lydia’s ready to believe him just because his instincts and his radar for evil are going off. He sits up a little straighter, filling her in on how the signatures hadn’t matched up, how otherwise the guy was just a little _too_ perfect, how he already had Scott wrapped around his finger even if Scott won’t admit it. He’s already accepted the guy into the pack. And Stiles knows that because Stiles knows Scott. He’s not going to turn the kid away, especially now after Theo had saved Lydia’s life. 

“I don’t know what else to say. I just -- have this feeling. And I know, I don’t really have rock solid proof, but there’s _something_ off about him. He’s not who he says he is. He just isn’t.” 

Lydia considers everything he’s telling her for a moment, glad to see him looking a little more confident as he starts to tell her everything she apparently missed from not being in school. “So, you have his transfer papers, right?” And no, she really doesn’t wanna know how he got it. She can guess, and she’d rather just not make it official knowledge. “We could track down his old school records, see if we can find anything about his past?” 

It’s a starting place, anyway. “You said he went to school with us when we were little and I-- didn’t exactly get a good look at him.” When they arrived, she feels like she could really only see Stiles. “But I don’t think I remember him at all.”

“Yeah.” He picks up his bookbag and pulls out the papers, handing them over so she can look at them. “And I tried hacking into the old school records earlier but --” He shrugs. He’d gotten interrupted. And he’s not sure that his jeep would survive a roadtrip at this point so he can break in in person and copy them.

Stiles holds his breath at that and nods a little, moving closer to the bed again and resting his hands on the rail, gripping onto it tightly. “We were in Little League together, but...I don’t remember that much.” It had been a bad year. The year his mom had died. There are a lot of things that are blurry in his mind for that time period. “Just about the only thing I really remember from Little League that year was Scott having an asthma attack in the bleachers and I took a pitch to the face because I was worried about getting him the extra inhaler I had.” 

Lydia takes the papers from him, frowning as she looks between the two signatures and shaking her head. “Yeah, definitely not the same person. The sinuous is definitely different on every word, except maybe the T.” She hands the papers back to him and shakes her head, smiling a little at the story. 

“You’re making this too complicated, Stiles. We don’t need his actual school records. We can probably google him, find people from his old school on facebook. See if anyone has pictures of him, things like that.” 

“...Oh.” It might have eventually occurred to him, but she’s not wrong. He tends to take the long, complicated route when he’s figuring things out. He looks a little sheepish at her words. “Right.” Too bad he doesn’t have his laptop with him. He rubs the back of his neck and carefully tucks the papers back into his bag. 

He looks at her for a moment, then hesitantly sits down on the edge of the bed beside her. “I should probably let you rest.” But he doesn’t really want to leave, either. He doesn’t want to let her out of his sight, and he doesn’t want to contemplate what that means right now.

She grins slightly at the sheepish look on his face, then shifts on the bed carefully, making room for him to sit down. But when he says he should let her rest, her smile fades instantly. She purses her lips together to hide it, but shakes her head. “I’m okay.” She really doesn’t want him to leave, either. It’s almost like this is back to normal. If he leaves, this weird distance between them will go back to being their normal. And she misses him being around.

“I definitely think _you_ should rest, though. But I know if you go home, you’re just going to research Theo instead, until you inevitably pass out in a very uncomfortable position by your desk.” And then she glances at the reclinable chair by her bed. Even if she doesn’t really _mean_ to.

He gives her his best innocent _what, me?_ smile when she accuses him of what’s a very likely scenario in the future and he shrugs. She’s not wrong. He’s tired, but as soon as he has access to his laptop and his board, he’ll be wanting to work on what he knows he’s right about, because now he has Lydia’s vote of confidence and agreement to back him up. 

He sees her gaze shift to the recliner and he glances at it, too, then arches his eyebrows and looks back at her. “How long do you think I can camp out before one of the nurses or doctors kicks my ass to the curb?” 

She shrugs a little at that, glancing at the door and smiling softly. “I guess it depends who comes in to check on me. If it’s Melissa, probably a while. Besides.” And now she’s watching him closely for a reaction. Because she has no idea if he even knows or how he feels about it. “My mom went on a date with your dad. I could always tell them you’re my brother. Step brother.”

His head whips around to stare at her, mouth dropping and eyes widening in disbelief. “My -- _what!?”_ Gross. 

Lydia laughs softly at his reaction. Somehow, her chest feels a little lighter all of the sudden. She places her hand over her wound carefully and turns toward him on the bed, smiling as she lays back against the pillows. 

“Yeah. You knew, right? About the date? Even if it’s pretty disturbing when you think about it from that perspective.” And maybe, just maybe, she sounds pretty satisfied by his reaction. Because Stiles thinking about her in any kind of sisterly way is way more disappointing than she’s willing to admit.

He flails a little, eyes still wide. “I knew he was going on _a_ date, I just didn’t know he was going on a date with -- oh my _god_. Not that there’s anything wrong with your mom,” he adds quickly. “It’s just -- _no_. That’s wrong in every conceivable way I can think of under the sun. No. Nope.” He shakes his head. “I thought he’d finally asked out Melissa!” 

She grins again, shaking her head slightly. “No, I agree. Not that there’s anything wrong with your dad, either. I just-- don’t really see it. Between them. Melissa I can see. But I think after everything she saw at the station, there won’t be a second date, anyway.” Her mom is pretty picky about her dates, and on both attempts, something went wrong. She’s still pretty insecure about even going on a dates, so Lydia assumes it’ll be a few months before she even tries again. 

Right now, though, she’s just a little more than amused by Stiles’ reaction. And maybe it’s her next dose of morphine kicking in, but she’s definitely feeling lighter.

“ _Good._ Good. There shouldn’t have even been a _first_ date. Or the setup _of_ a date.” This is levels of messed up he’s not willing to think about. He rubs his hands over his face. He will definitely be talking to his dad about this situation because there’s no way in hell he’s going to end up being Lydia’s step-brother. No way. 

She starts lifting her hand to touch his and considering her hand feels so much heavier, the morphine definitely is kicking in. She glances at the now empty drip on her IV, then takes a deep breath and tries again, this time successfully wrapping her fingers around his to pull his hand away from his face. “I really don’t think you need to worry about anything. Well, about them, anyway. I love my mom, but she’s a little too self-centered to date someone who works as much as your dad does.”

His expression softens as he realizes the drugs are kicking in and he gives her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right.” He’s still going to talk to his dad to stay on the safe side, but for now he’s going to let it go. He reaches down with his free hand and tugs the light blanket up and over her so she doesn’t get cold while she sleeps. “Rest,” he whispers, rubbing his thumb lightly over her knuckles.

Lydia sighs softly when he pulls the covers up around her, but tightens her fingers around his hand as much as she can. “I’m glad you’re staying,” she whispers. Her mouth feels heavy, but she still smiles softly at him, her eyes a little unfocused. “Stiles.” And she definitely has something else to say, but she closes her eyes for a moment first, because they feel heavy.

His mind automatically flashes back to a couple years before when he’d gone to check on her after she and Jackson had been witness to a wolf attack. Except that time she’d wanted Jackson with her, had passed out on him saying Jackson’s name. He holds his breath because this time she says his name. He leans over and presses a kiss to her forehead before moving to sit back down in the recliner, not letting go of her hand. 

He doesn’t know what’s really going on with this new threat. He doesn’t know how they’re all going to get through senior year at the rate they’re going right now. 

But he does know one thing: sometimes things change. And sometimes, other things never do.


End file.
